#dandelion fire

And the way that so many characters we literally never even meet still haunt the narrative. So many characters we don't get the names of, but the hole caused by their absense is so palpable it aches in the bones of the reader. The dead trees in Hyacinth's garden. Frank being described as a tumble weed. Henry's ache to be in Hylfing, but love of Kansas. Belonging to two worlds. Never knowing family members who died long before you.

AND THEY STILL LAUGH. ALL THE TIME. EVERYONE IS FEASTING, AND LAUGHING, AND LIVING. AND THEY PLAY BASEBALL. AND WATCH FIREWORKS.

BECAUSE LIFE IS GOOD. DEATH IS A REALITY, BUT LIFE IS GOOD! AND IN THE FACE OF EVIL, THE STRONGEST THING YOU CAN DO IS LAUGH! AND PLAY! AND BE! AND SHOW THE EVIL THAT IT CANNOT SCARE YOU. IT CANNOT DEFEAT YOU.

☽ DANDELION FIRE ☾

I am a moving statue, breathing a pristine air; in a perfect condition. I am a living statue, moving adequately as the world expects. Though, I am moving, I am immovable, I am vulnerable. I cannot demystify things when I caused something bad. I break. I shatter, until I met you.

You were a dandelion, stuffed with a fire for every adventure, a burning thirst for belongingness. You were a dandelion whose as vulnerable as a statue. You may fade, you may be blown away but you have your reasons to stay.

You have thrown all your cares away, move from place to place and find a way. One day you entered a mysterious place, alone, standing, I was there. You stared at me about half an hour, then you blatantly smiled and grinned at the 31st minute of our meeting. I saw the fire inside your eyes, a passion for living, and a living of surviving. I saw the melancholy of your metaphoric smile, and I immediately felt the connection, the blueness, I say, of our emotions. And as you stared at me, I said...”You’re a dandelion fire.”

Your brows went from side to side, you were as though - shocked. Maybe you did not expect for me, to have uttered that phrase, or you did not presume that I, a statue, talks. Then again, we got along.

We both took the chance to encounter each other’s tormented dreams. You let me witness your contemplation about life, and from that moment, we talked about life until 4:30 AM. I wasn’t prepared to have had a talking like that, but then again, we got along.  

I shared mine, too. Of course, I wanted to have a foundation for my feelings, an assurance that there is someone who’s willing to catch me whenever I fall. You did not hesitate to say, “Yes.”

So we were there until 5:18 in the morning until you have to go for an adventure. You weren’t sure if that was the last time we’ll ever intertwine again. It was a little saddening and disappointing, yet I had my reasons to be gay. I am a statue, whose face is always being stared at. Whose body is always being left. Taken for granted. A diary. An avenue of fiery experiences. 

-

You weren’t a dandelion fire, after all. You were the missing piece of my broken body, you were the roots that made the flowers inside my lungs stay alive. You were a dandelion who never gives a damn care whether he’s being blown away or picked. 

I am just a statue, and you were a dandelion that lit up my whole world.

“Do you understand how the ground pulls you down or why the earth has never been drawn into the sun or how a crawling worm morphs into a butterfly? We can give names to these things, but that is not understanding.”